Bonfire Mingle Post || OTA

[sanguinescry]

Around the time the sun is starting to set in the early to mid-evening on Saturday, 11/12 as promised, Lydia will (hopefully with the help of Allison and a couple of others) have set up a bonfire on the beach. She's brought several bags of marshmallows, boxes of graham crackers, bars of chocolate, and s'more skewers so that s'mores can totally be a thing. There's also plenty of blankets and towels spread around, because she wants to be sure everyone is comfortable. Jill has offered to bring the alcohol.

Lydia can be found making her way around, greeting and mingling with anyone who arrives and throughout the night. She'll be doing her best to appear approachable so that anyone who maybe hasn't ever been to a bonfire and has questions will feel comfortable approaching her to do that.

[ ooc: please feel free to respond directly to this with your own top comments to play out stuff in here or you can use this as a prompt to make your own logs elsewhere, totally up to you. If you'd like to play with Lydia, please consider this her top comment. Mods, let me know if I need to make any changes to this.]

Comments

[epeiste]

It's true that they are trying to get back. So he supposes that Aramis is right. Porthos places his hand over Aramis's on his knee and their fingers sort of lace together. "When did you get so smart, eh? Must be the company you keep. Comin' back to us was the best thing you ever did."

He's teasing of course. And his tone says as much, as well as his amused and enamored expression. To Porthos, Aramis is the best person he knows.

[averygoodshot]

Ah, Aramis knows how special that admiration is; he knows what it is not to have it. And now he is so happy to feel treasured.

His hand is rough in Porthos's, but he doesn't pull away; it's warm and reassuring and a firm reminder of what their relationship is.

Aramis gazes back at Porthos, his expression just as warm. "It seems I was meant to be a soldier," he says. "And ... " he smiles just a little. "I was meant, I think, to be with you."

[epeiste]

"Glad you finally came around to my side of things." Porthos teases, because he can't argue with either of those statements. Or, well, he could but he doesn't want to. He wants them to be true.

He looks away from Aramis and shakes his head, gaze settling on an undefined spot on the opposite wall. "It's just sort of selfish for me to want to be here."

Porthos pauses, because there's a reason behind that, and it's just as selfish. His fingers lift and re-lace themselves with Aramis's. "We couldn't do this back there."

[averygoodshot]

No, they could not. They would be in great danger. Their lives would be so different, too, it seems strange to even try to compare. Aramis runs his thumbs along one of Porthos's knuckles. "Who knows," he says lightly, teasing (perhaps even flirting a bit). "Perhaps it is that you wouldn't want me there. You would, perhaps, want someone else."

[epeiste]

Porthos can't help but compare because it's one of the main reasons he's selfishly growing to want to stay here more and more each day. The touch to his knuckle is intimate in its own right. He likes it. "If I knew what I know now after everywhere we've been, I'd want you anywhere, Aramis. Even there. No question. No matter how dangerous."

[averygoodshot]

"Porthos - " Aramis looks down at their hands. That is too dangerous - Porthos knows that. They both know that.

The sentiment is good - it's wonderful, really. It warms Aramis's chest. But neither of them are terribly reasonable, are they?

He draws their joined hands up and kisses Porthos's rough knuckles before nuzzling them with his cheek.

They have this - they have now.

[epeiste]

It would absolutely be dangerous. But then again, Porthos and Aramis have never shied away from danger before. Why would they under those circumstances?

Even if, in this place, the point is a moot one, the sentiment is there. And Porthos means it, every word, wholeheartedly.

Aramis's kiss to his hand is sweet. The feel of his scruff over his skin is somehow sweeter. Porthos lets Aramis hold his hand there against his cheek.

Then he reaches over to touch Aramis's jawline and turns him into a kiss, sweet and soft and tasting of too much wine.

[averygoodshot]

There are rarely kisses which don't taste of wine.

That isn't Aramis complaining, mind; it is simply a fact. Under the wine, though, is Porthos's distinct flavor; it sends a chill down Aramis's spine and he leans into the kiss, hand moving seemingly of its own accord to pull Porthos's bandana away. All the better to tangle fingers into those wayward curls and to deepen that kiss; not to obscene levels, but there's heat there, unmistakable.

[epeiste]

His curls are always so unruly unless someone deigns to fashion them into something more subdued. Aramis once did that for him on occasion. It's been some time though. To feel Aramis's fingers twine themselves in those curls now brings about those memories. Fond memories as Aramis deepens the kiss in away that isn't quite so scorching as they have been before, but is every bit as meaningful. Porthos's tongue licks at Aramis's and he smiles into the kiss.

[averygoodshot]

That smile is it's own kind of intoxicating and Aramis will be the first to tell anyone that there is a place for heat and ferociousness, and a place for slower, warmer-in-its-own-way, intimacy. He leans back, arching a brow in question at what is making Porthos smile like this.

(He would happily do Porthos's hair again if he needed or desired it.)

[epeiste]

When Aramis leans back and looks at him like that, Porthos shakes his head, the grin still lingering on his lips even as he pulls his bottom lip through his teeth to taste of the remnants of Aramis's lips on his own. "I just like it when your fingers are in me hair, that's all. Is that odd?"

[averygoodshot]

Odd? Hardly. Aramis scoffs at the idea that it would be strange. He reaches up again, partly out of fondness, and partly out of query to see what Porthos might do. He cards through those unruly curls that look as if they might be rough, but are so soft, then he makes a light fist, not enough to hurt, but enough to tug Porthos's head back, baring his neck to the grazing of Aramis's teeth.

[epeiste]

Yes, odd. Because a man enjoying the feel of another man's fingers in his hair might be considered odd. But then again, where Aramis is concerned, everything is different than what it might should be.

With that scoff, Porthos smirks and dips his head, only to feel Aramis's fingers there again in his curls. His eyes briefly close until he feels those fingers curl and tighten, tug backward until his neck is bared and Aramis's mouth is on his skin and Porthos feels heat everywhere, like smoky tendrils curling about his insides.

"Aramis..." He breathes his friend's name and cups a hand at the back of his neck to invite more.

[averygoodshot]

Oh, isn't that a nice response. It's lovely, really. (Aramis does so like to have just that modicum of power now and again, especially over someone strong and stalwart as Porthos.)

When Porthos says his name like that, Aramis suckles just enough to leave a bruise, a mark, right at the base of Porthos's neck, right where he smells like leather and musk.

One hand stays in Porthos's hair, tugging, the other starts to work open Porthos's trousers.

[epeiste]

There is literally no one but Aramis who he would allow to have any power over him in this way. He's good at taking orders as a soldier. As Porthos, however, he has so many reasons not to allow someone that kind of power over him. But with Aramis... well, sometimes it's nice to let him have his way - like when he wore those more modern clothes in Teleios. Like the few times he'd allowed such things in Carvaka. And like now.

Even with that hand in his hair holding his head back, he tries to reach Aramis's lips for a kiss. He feels that release of fabric at his crotch and he starts pushing a hand up beneath Aramis's shirtsleeves.

"You want me." He says, in the most delectable push-pull dynamic he can remember ever being in; allowing Aramis his control but also keeping his own. "Say it. Say what you want, Aramis."

[averygoodshot]

He can feel as much as hear Aramis's chuckle. A push-pull indeed. Aramis lifts his head just a bit, whispering the words in Porthos's ear: "I want you, Porthos."

And God help him, but he does, feeling a tight heat in his belly as he pulls the string of Porthos's braies and slips a hand inside, curling it around his erection. It is hot and so hard in his hand; he shudders despite himself.

Porthos seems to loose something in him that no one else has: a brazenness and depravity that overwhelms him.

[epeiste]

Even while Porthos knows it to be true, hearing Aramis say the words, voice husky and whispered in his ear, like that makes every kind of difference. Porthos feels heat and life from the inside out as the words echo in his mind in just the way Aramis has said them. He could listen to those same words over and over and never grow weary of them.

Feeling Aramis's hand on his erection, thick and hard in his friend's palm, is Heaven and Porthos makes a sound that's half groan and half growl to show what he thinks of it. He reaches up to pull his shirtsleeves over his head and off, tossing them aside. Then he leans in, fingers gripping Aramis's chin, to kiss him once more, slow and sweet before he leans back on Aramis's mattress on his elbows.

The grin he gives Aramis is wicked. Then in the most wanton way, he spreads his legs in open invitation. "Then have your fill, Aramis."

[averygoodshot]

God, what a sight. And how Porthos feels.

It's intoxicating. Aramis leans over Porthos, his grip shifting, even as he straddles one of his thighs. It gives his own erection some friction and he inhales sharply.

Bending down, he kisses down Porthos's chest. He's been given permission, and he's going to take advantage of every moment of it. They have nowhere to be and no commitments but to themselves. He will kiss and touch wherever he wants. Stretching out time and want and pleasure - a specialty of his, one he'll exploit to the fullest.

Who knows how much time passes when he looks up. They are both naked now and he presses himself fully to Porthos, flushed and entirely wanting.

[epeiste]

It's Porthos's goal, in this moment, to be as enticing to Aramis as he possibly can be. It's been some time since he's flirted with anyone as he has with Aramis. It's been some time since he's aggressively sought to make anyone want him the way he is with Aramis right now.

When Aramis reacts as he does, Porthos considers his attempts in accomplishment. Because the weight of Aramis on top of him, the heat where their skin touches and presses together, it's magnificent... such a lovely reward for his efforts.

Porthos's hands slide from Aramis's shoulders, down his back to his ass, where he squeezes the flesh there and rocks his hips up against Aramis. He brings one leg up, bent at the knee, and invites Aramis even more.

"I can see why the women in Paris fall at your feet, Aramis. Perhaps you have left a few men in your wake as well." He's teasing, of course... only a little. But Porthos wonders if he would have been one of those men should Aramis have turned his attentions on him even in their home.

[averygoodshot]

Perhaps there had been attentions from men in Paris, but Aramis would have ignored them had they even made themselves known. It would have been forbidden, not to mention there had not, at least in Aramis's view, been anyone worth taking the risks for.

None so good in every way as Porthos is.

He can't seem to stop touching, tasting, exploring, feeling his own pleasure and want build, sensing Porthos's grow as well.

[epeiste]

While the touch and the attention are intoxicating in and of itself, the non-answer has Porthos briefly worried. He can't help himself. Being with Aramis again like this is still something that's new enough that he's worried about losing it, whether of his own doing or not.

Yes, he is aroused. He knows that Aramis is too. How could either of them not be right now?

He reaches up to cup either side of Aramis's face and bring him up so that he can look into his eyes. Short nails lightly scratch at the scruff on one of Aramis's cheeks as he looks into his eyes, beautiful eyes that he knows so well. "I'm only teasing. You know that."